


Nightmares

by TopazTeardrop



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, F slur, Fix-It, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Gore, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, IDK I just want my boys to be happy together, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Movie: IT Chapter Two (2019), Nightmares, Not Canon Compliant, Panic Attacks, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Canon, Reddie, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie is stubborn as shit, Slow Burn, also suicide mention, blood warning, just cause they talk about stan and yikes, light angst maybe?, like rip stan but eddies different, mild gore warning, myra is a bitch, not stan though he's still dead, oblivious boys, of course eddie lives, ok yea editing tags, richie definitely has ptsd in this, richie is very sad and very gay, tagged gore cause the nightmares get nasty and not in the fun way, they get together i promise, theyre just stupid and it takes forever, this got sadder than i thought
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-11-26 18:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20934530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TopazTeardrop/pseuds/TopazTeardrop
Summary: After defeating It in Derry, Eddie divorces his wife and comes to live with Richie. Richie is excited to have Eddie so close, but the nightmares that plague his sleep put stress on their relationship as Richie tries hard to hide his struggles from the boy he's been in love with for 27 years.





	1. The Phone Call

_Richie could taste blood. It wasn’t his blood, he knew it wasn’t. He knew because Eddie was standing above him wide eyed as the claw tore through his chest. His blood spilled everywhere. It was on Richie’s glasses, in his mouth. He was helpless to watch his best friend, his Eddie, get tossed aside like nothing. Limp. The image was seared into his mind until everything went black. For a moment, it was all gone._  
_ Then Richie could taste blood. Then he watched happen again. Then it was gone and he could taste blood. Then again. And again. Again. Again._

Eventually Richie’s eyes shot open and he was staring at his blurry ceiling, breathing hard. His throat was tight and sore from crying in his sleep. He scrambled around for his glasses, swinging his legs over the side of his bed so he could sit up property. Shoving his glasses on his face, Richie got his bearings. He was in his small apartment, in Los Angeles, in California. Not in the Neilbolt house, not Derry, not Maine.

Richie struggled to catch his breath. Bracing his hands on his knees, he recalled Eddie’s old breathing exercises. In, out. In, out, trying to slow his breathing. In, out. _Blood on his glasses._ No. In, out._ Blood in his mouth_. Stop it. In, out. In, out_. Eddies gone_. Richie choked on a sob before clapping his hand over his mouth as if he was afraid of being heard. He knew it wasn’t true, that Eddie was still alive. But when Richie was alone in the dark his mind started playing tricks on him. Richie knew that when he came out the deadlights, he’d just barely knocked Eddie out of the way of the direct path of the claw, but it still did lots of damage. In his dreams, Richie wasn’t so fast. It sent a chill down his spine.

Shakily, Richie grabbed his phone and unlocked it, staring at his recent call list. Eddie’s name was at the top. They called each other often after leaving Derry. While Eddie was in the hospital, they’d talked about what came next.

Richie had joked Eddie should become a professional clown killer since he was clearly so good at it. Eddie had just rolled his eyes. He’d been in the hospital for about a week by this point, the wound in his side still requiring professional care.

“Very funny dickhead.” Eddie retorted, but there was no bite in his words.

“But seriously, are we just supposed to go back to our old lives after this shit?” Richie asked, leaning back in the chair at Eddie’s bedside. “I mean, shit has to change now. I’m going to have to start working killer alien clown jokes into my act. My manager’s gonna have an aneurysm.”

Eddie laughed, and Richie's heart clenched like he was thirteen again. He loved hearing that laugh.

“Yeah, shit’s gonna change.” he said. Eddie’s voice was soft, almost contemplative.

Richie huffed. “I just said that dude. Pay attention.” He reached out and pinched Eddie’s not-stabbed cheek. “Earth to Spaghetti, do you copy?”

Eddie slapped his hand away with false annoyance. “Grow up Rich, I was literally agreeing with you. God, you’re impossible.” Richie just laughed.

There was silence for a beat. Richie was looking for a joke to fill the void, but before he could find one Eddie broke the silence.

“I’m going to leave my wife.” He blurted. Richie was a bit taken aback by the suddenness. Eddie was staring straight ahead, looking surprised at his own outburst.

“So, she told you then?” Richie asked, hesitantly.

Eddie raised an eyebrow at him. “Told me what?”

Richie’s grinned, a look Eddie knew from years of experience that meant a punchline was coming. “About our torrid affair, I’ve been smashing your woman for weeks now.”

Eddie shoved him. “Beep fucking beep, asshole!” Richie just laughed. “I'm serious Rich! God I try to have one genuine moment and you have to fuck it up.”

“Alright, alright. I'm sorry Eds” Richie apologized, although certainly didn’t sound sorry.

“Don’t call me that.”

That exchange had happened about two months ago. Once Eddie was discharged, he went to sort things out with Myra. “I faced an evil alien murder clown,” he’d said. “I can certainly face my wife long enough to leave her.” Richie had swelled with pride at how brave Eddie had been. He’d always been brave. Not like Richie, who woke up crying every night with nightmares. There was a handful of recurring ones, all involving Eddie. Eddie dying was common, so were all the deaths of his friends he watched in the deadlights. But sometimes Richie dreamt they were in the hammock again. Richie would look up from his comic book to see Eddie staring at him, smiling. Then his face would start to flake away into white paint as his features contorted and he’d start mocking Richie. _You’re sick richie! You’re perverted, I know you are. I know all about your dirty little secret._ Richie couldn’t move. The voice was an awful amalgamation of Eddie and Pennywise, and it shook Richie to his core. _Who’d stay friends with you? You’re a filthy fag._

Other times he could feel Henry bowers fists punching into him, and his head swirled with all of his insults. _Freak. Fairy. Pervert. Fag._ Sometimes the names were hurled by Bowers, sometimes Pennywise, sometimes Eddie.

Every time, Richie woke up crying. He’d considered telling Eddie about the nightmares, but he had no idea how that conversation would go. “Hey Eddie sorry to wake you, but my immense gay feelings for you and the traumas we’ve encountered have compounded into horrisfic nightmares that make my cry like a little bitch.” Yeah, no. Besides the terrible phrasing, Eddie had enough on his plate with his messy divorce. Myra had apparently not taken it well, and they’re still battling it out. He didn’t need Richie stacking more problems on him right now. So Richie would manage.

Eddie called him later in the day, just after five. Richie had been paying some bills, a terrible and grown up thing to do. He was taking a leave from doing gigs. His manager, Steve, had just about ripped him a new one for leaving on such a short notice until Richie told him an old friend had passed away, and that’s why he left so suddenly. It was also why he needed time from gigs, to “process.” Begrudgingly, Steve accepted. Hard to argue with the dead friend excuse, even if it wasn’t the whole truth. But now he ways paying bills from savings alone, so he was happy for the distraction that was Eddie’s phone call.

“Chhk, Eduardo, do you copy? Over.” Richie spoke into his cell phone like it was a walkie talkie. He heard Eddie groan on the other end of the line.

“Remind me why I bother calling you?” Eddie asked.

“Chhk, because I’m your best friend and you have to, chhk, over.”

Eddie chuckled. “Knock it off Rich, I actually have some news.”

“Chhk, You’re supposed to end all transmissions with ‘Over’, Eds. chhk, over.”

“Don’t call me that.” Eddie said, before sighing and giving in. “Over.”

Richie smiled. “See, that wasn’t so hard! So what’s the news?” he said, deciding to drop the walkie talkie bit now that Eddie had caved.

“Well,” he sounded shaky. “There’s good news and bad news.”

“I already know the bad news.” Richie said solemnly.

“How’s that?”

“Myra's pregnant and it’s mine.”

Eddie groaned. “I'm hanging up now-”

“Wait, wait!” Richie laughed, “C’mon Eds, just tell me what the news is.”

“Don’t call me that.” Eddie replied on instinct. He paused for a moment, then said, “We got it finalized today.”

Richie sat up in his chair. “That’s great news! Why didn’t you lead with that?”

He could hear Eddie huff. “Because someone can’t ever shut up long enough to let me get a word in.”

Richie hummed. “Can’t imagine who that would be, sounds a bit rude.”

“He’s the biggest asshole I know, hands down.”

“Well any man who sleeps with his best friend’s now ex-wife has gotta be a huge douche.”

“Jesus Christ, Richie.”

“That’s what your ex-wife said!” Richie jumped at the chance of the joke.

“Would you let me finish?”

“THAT'S WHAT YOUR-” The line went dead as Richie laughed. He knew Eddie didn’t mean anything by the end of the call, it was just a way to tell Richie to shut up. Richie chuckled to himself as he dialed Eddie back. He picked up on the second ring.

“Got it all out of your system dickwad?” Eddie asked, sounding mildly annoyed.

Richie shook his head to himself and answered, “My humor never leaves my system, my dear boy.”

Richie could feel Eddie rolling his eyes on the other side of the country. “Do you even want to hear the bad news?”

Richie paused. Did he? “Yeah, shoot.”

Eddie sighed. He sounded tired now. “Like I said, it’s been messy with Myra. She’s taking everything she can get. That includes,” Eddie swallowed, “that includes our apartment.”

Richie didn’t really know how to respond to that. The phone was silent for awhile until Eddie spoke up again. “It’s not like I’m homeless now or anything,” he hurried. His voice was a bit nervous and Richie could tell he was on direct route to a panic attack. “Its just I really liked the place and Myra and I picked it out together and I hate apartment hunting because there’s so many factors involved and its so stressful-”

“Move in with me.” Richie blurted. Fuck. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but he hated hearing Eddie panic without being able to do anything about it. Now the line was silent and Richie had to resist the urge to slam his head into his desk.

“What?” Eddie asked, like he didn’t believe what he’d heard.

Richie stood up from his desk and started pacing nervously. “I- I mean, you could stay with me if you like. At least until you find a place of your own. I don't know, I just thought”-he had not thought at all- “that it might help relieve some of the stress. So you don’t have to rush the process.”

Richie paused, but the line was still silent. Fuck. He’s fucked it. Why does he never think before opening his stupid mouth? Why would Eddie want to stay with him all the way in L.A.? His place is a mess! And Richie… well Richie is also a mess.

“Okay.” Richie was so busy panicking he barely heard the reply.

“What did you say?”

“I said okay, numbnuts. If it’s really alright, I think I need a break from NYC anyways.”

“Oh.” Richie’s heart started to race. He hadn’t seen Eddie since they left Derry. “Well, you’re going to have to give me some time to vacate the guest room.”

“Do you have a guest over? There’s really no rush-”

“No, no, its fine. It’s just that your mom has spent the past few nights with me-”

“Beep Beep Richie.”

They agreed it would be best for Eddie to come the next day, give him time to pack everything and fly over. So Richie spent the rest of the day cleaning and rearranging his apartment. He did actually have a spare room, but he had made it into a rarely used office/storage room. Eddie would take his room of course. Not only was it cleaner, but Richie secretly hoped that if Eddie was comfortable, he’d stay longer. So Richie rearranged the office to fit an air mattress. Since he had no actual idea of how long Eddie would be staying, at some point he figured he’d have to buy a second bed. He was okay with that, but an air mattress would have to do for now. Then he deep cleaned everything else. He did all the dishes that had stacked up, did laundry, and spent the day swimming in his thoughts as he cleaned. Eddie would be living with him. Living with him! For god knows how long but it was happening! Richie didn’t know if he was more excited or nervous. On one hand, he’d be living with the boy he’d had a crush on since he was thirteen. On the other hand, he’d be living with the straight boy he’d had a secret gay crush on since the eighties, a very unkind time for such situations.

_At least I’ll know he’s alive_, Richie thought to himself. The thought made his hands freeze over his dishes. In all the excitement over the phone call, Richie hadn’t even considered his nightmares. What if Eddie heard him crying in his sleep? God, that would be embarrassing. But Richie supposed he was right the first time. At least he’d know Eddie was alive.

Richie had the apartment to a satisfactory level by two A.M., at which point he could barely keep his eyes open. Climbing into bed Richie thought about how tomorrow night, Eddie would be here. He tried to keep his mind on positive thoughts as he drifted to sleep.

Then Richie could taste blood.


	2. Casa de Trashmouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie moves in and Richie is ecstatic, but having Eddie around results in memories of nightmares resurfacing.

Eddie’s flight arrived at LAX at four, but Richie was at the airport at three. He’d barely gotten a wink of sleep last night, and the sleep he had gotten left him in tears. Still, he had changed his sheets for Eddie and forced himself to try and write some new material before giving up and deciding he might as well go to the airport early. He didn’t want to keep Eddie waiting.

Two hours later, Richie was helping Eddie bring his things into the apartment. Richie fumbled with his keys for a moment before swinging the door open with a flourish. “Welcome to casa de trashmouth, Eddie my boy!”

Eddie just smiled at him as he walked in. “Thanks Rich.” Once they were both inside, Richie grimaced at the state of his apartment. He’d done his best to clean, but of course now that Eddie was here he saw all the sloppy flaws. His counter had coffee stains, his couch cushions were all weird and lumpy, and his  _ carpet- _

“Not too shabby, bud.” Eddie patted his shoulder as he went to poke his head into the various doors. He pointed into Richie’s office/makeshift guest room. “This one mine?” He asked.

“Nah, I figured I’d take the guest room. You can have the penthouse suite.” Richie said, leaning against the frame to his, now Eddie’s, room. Eddie stared at him incredulously for a moment, then shook his head.

“No way man,” He tried to argue, putting up his hands. “I won’t make you do that. You’re doing enough just letting me stay here, I won’t force you out of your own bed.” 

Richie shrugged like it was no big deal. “It’s alright man, really. I’m mainly doing this cause I don't wanna listen to you bitch about how much dust is in the guest room. Because there is a lot.” Richie grinned as Eddie wrinkled his nose at the thought of dust. “Besides.” Richie continued, “I’ve already changed the sheets in here and I would hate for the hour I spent at war with the fitted sheet to go to waste.”

Eddie frowned at him, unhappy with the situation but he knew Richie’s arguments were valid. He did hate dust. Richie felt his heart squeezed when Eddie pouted at him like that. All he could think was  _ cute cute cute.  _

“Fine.” Eddie interrupted his thoughts as he began to set his bags in Richie’s room, Richie watching from the doorway. “We should eat soon.” Eddie pointed out, “I haven’t eaten since New York.”

“What, couldn’t handle the airplane food?” Richie teased, “Was the first class chef not enough to please the whims of Edward Kaspbrak?”

Eddie threw one of his jackets at Richie. “That’s not funny dickhead, do you have any idea how many pathogens float around in airplanes? By eating that shit you increase the likelihood of contracting diseases by-”

Richie cut him off by looping his arm around Eddie’s neck and pulling him into a noogie. “Oh you want diseases, ‘cause I’ll give you diseases!” Richie jeered, rubbing his knuckles into Eddies hair. Eddie slapped at Richie’s arm and torso, pushing him off with little challenge. Eddie had certainly gotten stronger since the noogies from their childhood.

“Rich get off me! Oh my god you are so immature.” Eddie complained, shoving Richie who just kept laughing. “How have you not grown up at all like who even gives noogies anymore.” 

Richie just shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. He watched Eddie with a smile as he huffed and hurried to fix his shirt and hair. Eddie’s cheeks were red, probably from the exertion of fighting Richie off. Richie had missed this. He had missed Eddie, and being close to Eddie. His knuckles tingled from where he had ground them into Eddie’s hair, and Richie couldn’t help but admire how nice he looked with his hair disheveled and his cheeks flushed.

“What’re you staring at, asshole?” Eddie snapped Richie out of his thoughts, regarding him with a distrustful frown. 

“Your cute lil' face, Eds. I’ve got loads of annoying you that I need to catch up on, so get ready for that.”

Eddie just sighed and replied “Don’t call me that.” before turning back to his unpacking. But Richie could have sworn he saw a smile. Richie went to his kitchen and opened his fridge to see what they might be able to have for dinner. Yikes. It looked like he had more beer than food.

“Hey Eddie, how does ordering pizza sound?” 

The rest of the night was one of the best times Richie's had in awhile. They ordered pizza and watched tv, eating and laughing and taking digs at each other just like old times. Since Richie didn’t exactly have a table, they ate on the couch. Richie got a few jabs in at how despite his best cleaning efforts, Eddie would sanitize his hands every time he touched the couch between slices.

“I don’t know who’s been on this couch or what they have!” He’d defended.

“Sure you do Eddie,” Richie assured. “Just me and your mom, but she does have scabies.”

“Beep beep fucker!”

As the night went on though, Eddie began to relax. He ended up reclining into the couch with his back against the armrest, and he rearranged so his legs were crossed onto Richie’s lap. It was a familiar position for them and while they weren't lying head to toe, it did remind Richie of the hammock.  _ The hammock.  _ Richie’s eyes wandered from the sitcom they watched over to Eddie, who looked away from the screen to smile back at him. Richie felt like he had a strange moment of deja vu before he remembered why this was so familiar. His breath hitched and his smile dropped as he imagined Eddie’s face contorting, the voice from his dreams mocking him in the back of his mind. Richie couldn’t stop himself from flinching.

Eddie’s face turned into a concerned frown and that snapped Richie out of his memory back into the present. 

“You alright Rich?” Eddie asked. His eyebrows were scrunched up in worry, an expression that wrinkled the bridge of Eddie’s nose in a way Richie usually loved. 

Richie tried to slow his breathing. When had it gotten so fast? “Yea,” he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking and failing miserably. The look on Eddie’s face showed no signs of believing him. “Would be better if you’re short little legs weren’t cutting off my circulation. My legs are asleep, I can barely feel my feet!” Richie joked, bouncing his knees so that Eddies legs jumped up and down on his lap.

Eddie’s frown went from concern to annoyance. “My legs aren’t short dickwad, you’re just freakishly tall!” Eddie protested, moving his legs so he could kick at the side of Richie’s thigh. Richie grabbed one of Eddie’s feet in retaliation and started tickling mercilessly, which only served to make Eddie kick harder. The play fight fizzled out when Eddie was able to twist his ankle out of Richie’s grasp, tucking his knees up so they no longer rested in Richie’s lap. Richie laughed at Eddie, who was red faced and grumbling. He would have enjoyed the moment more if his mind wasn’t on whatever happened in his brain a minute ago. Richie was pretty sure he could keep a handle on his nightmares, but now that Eddie was here he desperately hoped they wouldn’t keep spilling into his waking moments. He shook it off and tried to turn his attention back to the TV.

When the episode ended, Eddie yawned. “Alright Rich, I’m beat. I think I’ll turn in.” He got up and stretched his back, looking like an old man as he did. Richie didn’t want to go to bed, but he couldn’t deny his exhaustion. After the excitement of today and the minimal sleep he’d been getting, his body was practically begging for rest. 

“Yep.” Richie groaned, clambering to his feet. “Were not as young and resilient as we used to be, eh Eds?” 

Eddie pushed at his shoulder weakly. “Don’t call me that.”  
“Sure thing Eds.”

Eddie clapped Richie on the back before padding his way over to his room. Once he opened the door, he turned back to Richie who was cleaning up the mess from dinner. 

“Richie?” Eddie practically whispered. Richie’s heart skipped a beat when he heard Eddie say his name so softly.

“Yeah Eddie?”

Eddie was chewing at his lip, looking the way he did when he haphazardly announced his plans to divorce his wife. His eyes were boring into Richie, and he could almost see whatever thought was on his mind bouncing around in his skull.

“Thanks,” He said flatly, looking down. “for everything.”

Richie blinked. While they were very close, Richie and Eddie were very rarely vulnerable with one another. They took comfort in the jokes and japes that kept them from spiraling into the terrible memories of what they had been through together. This one phrase from Eddie felt like a very exposed departure from that.

“Don’t worry about it.” Richie’s voice sounded a little strained.  _ Fuck. don't cry don't cry.  _ “That’s what friends are for, right?”

Eddie nodded, and just like that he was gone.

Richie got ready for bed in a blur, thinking and rethinking about the nights events. How tenderly Eddie had thanked him, how his nightmares had almost ruined a perfectly good night. For a brief moment, Richie was struck with the resolve to tell Eddie about his dreams. But that quickly passed.

There were a million reasons Richie didn’t want Eddie to know about his nightmares. One was the matter of Eddie being in all of them, and he knew Eddie would ask why that was. It’s because Richie’s fear was still haunting him. The fear that somebody could find out about his secret, that Eddie might find out and hate him for it. He’d be as disgusted as he was in Richie’s dreams, and it would be his nightmares incarnate. He knew it wasn’t the eighties anymore, but as much as he knew what the facts were Richie had never acknowledged his feelings aloud. That made it too real. It’s far better to joke about it then confront reality and risk losing his friends and letting his nightmares come true.

The other primary reason seemed silly compared to the existentialism of the first. Richie didn’t want Eddie to think he was weak. Richie figured even if he could tell Eddie about his nightmares, told some half truth about reliving being in the deadlights, he still wouldn’t. He desperately wanted Eddie to believe he was stronger than that, that Richie wasn’t some kid kept awake by nightmares of monsters in the closet. Heh. Monsters in the closet. Maybe there was some comedy potential in coming out, Richie thought as he lay down on his air mattress.

He stared at his ceiling for awhile, trying to find some peaceful form of rest. It wasn’t long before rest came but it certainly wasn’t peaceful. As Richie’s eyes fluttered closed, his skin immediately went cold.

_ Richie was being blinded by some excruciatingly bright light. The deadlights. He was back in the deadlights, he thought. He could hear laughter, but it was like it was coming from inside his head, reverberating inside his skull. It was a demonic chuckle that Richie was all two familiar with.  _

_ “Silly little Richie!” It said. Richie could feel It’s hot breath all around him. “You never stood a chance!” And just like that the montague started. He watched helplessly as his friends were slaughtered in front of him. It forced him to watch Stan take his own life. Bill, Beverly, Mike, Ben, Eddie. All gone. All dying horrific, twisted deaths. He watched the light leave their eyes a billion times, watched the claw that tore through Eddie’s chest do it again and again. Meanwhile Richie could feel his body suspended in the air. He could feel his eyes wide open and how limp his body hung in the air, but he couldn’t move. Just watch. And watch. And watch. After an eternity, he felt something new. Tears spilled down his open eyes and rolled down his slack face and he was powerless to stop them.  _

Eventually Richie jerked awake, panicked and alone. He had control of his body back but the visions of his friends, of Eddie, still burned behind his eyes. And of course, tears still streamed down his face. Richie buried his face in his hands and did his best to muffle the sobs that he couldn’t hold back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey shout out to when this was gonna be just two chapters. I might have to add a slow burn tag because while I PROMISE our boys will be happy I love to make them suffer first.   
But yea chapter three is coming god knows when, I've been in a very write-y mood so hopefully soon.  
Also, I just wanna say that the main reason this is up so fast is because I got some really sweet comments on the last chapter. I cant express how much comments and feedback motivates writers so please if you enjoyed this leave a comment or tell me what you want to see happen.   
Iv'e been contemplating changing the rating from teen to mature because at this point things things might get saucy. should I let things get saucy or keep it family friendly? lemme know, love yall


	3. Pancakes for dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For all of Richie's efforts, Eddie begins to catch glimpses of how much he's struggling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small warning for this chapter: Richie cries a lot but thats ok he's just goin through it. Also

Over the next few weeks, Richie and Eddie would fall into a comfortable pattern. Eddie would work from home because apparently risk analysis was something you can do remotely. Richie didn’t know much about how it worked. He spent his days writing new jokes and going to meetings. Him and his manager decided to turn his break from an impromptu vacation to a leave of absence, to do all the work that goes into comedy just short of going onstage. They were actually working towards a deal with Netflix, so Richie was still getting paid for meetings and licensing. On the days Richie spent writing, it wasn’t uncommon for the pair to sit in silence on the couch squinting at respective computer screens in focus. 

That’s not to say all they did was work, it was just the opposite. More often than not they ended up distracting each other, and in the evenings Eddie had fallen into the habit of cooking. It was an awfully domestic thing that warmed Richie to his core. Around six o’clock Eddie would put aside his laptop and stand, putting a hand on Richie’s shoulder or ruffling his hair before moving into the kitchen. Richie would smile under the touch, frequently reaching out to poke or hassle Eddie as he walked by. 

The habit began to develop after Eddie’s first week at Casa de Trashmouth, or so Richie had dubbed it. They’d eaten takeout for essentially every meal, and eventually Eddie couldn’t take the endless pizza or thai food anymore. He rummaged through Richie’s kitchen in search of “real food” and was appalled by the state of Richie’s diet, or lack thereof. 

“How do you live like this?” Eddie had asked, head deep in the fridge. He held two almost finished bottles of hot sauce in his hands, and there was little else to speak of in the fridge. Richie just shrugged.

“I guess you could say I usually _ eat out. _” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows at Eddie who in turn shot him a disgusted look. 

Eddie clambered to his feet and tossed the hot sauce into the trash along with all the other food that was either spoiled, empty, or something Eddie called “fucking gross, dude.” Once he was done Eddie put his hands on his hips, regarding the nearly empty refrigerator. 

“Now let’s get some actual human food.”

That’s pretty much how their little evening ritual started. They’d grocery shop once a week and in the evenings, Eddie would cook dinner. He was really good at cooking too, unfairly good. Richie had no such skill, in fact the one time he’d try to help Eddie he’d set off the fire alarm. Eddie often teased him about that incident, but Richie didn’t mind. 

Living with Eddie had turned his life around. For starters his apartment was much cleaner, but that was because Richie had a reason to put effort in now. He was also generally in a better mood. His days used to be all work, go to a show, maybe get drunk at a bar, then come home to an empty apartment. Now when Richie got home from meetings, Eddie was tucked up on the couch. Now when the weekend rolled around, he got to spend it with Eddie and show him the sights of LA. He spent most of their outings trying to make Eddie laugh, and he was pretty good at it. Once, Richie took him to the Hollywood walk of fame. At first Eddie didn’t like it. It was crowded, filthy, and packed with tourists and drifters but Richie convinced him to stay a little longer. As they walked down the street Richie started doing impressions of the celebrities on the stars, and Eddie began to laugh and enjoy himself. Richie loved it when Eddie laughed. His laugh was beautiful, it always started with him trying to contain it before the laughter tumbled out, shaking his shoulders and re-defining his smile lines. Hearing Eddie laugh reminded Richie of why he got into comedy in the first place. It was something he was good at, sure, but he really did love to make people laugh. He loved making Eddie laugh most of all. 

Even as Richie thought about all the joys that came with having Eddie around, there was always something clawing at Richie’s heart. Whenever Eddie smiled at him, a little voice reminded him that this wasn’t forever, that soon Eddie would find his own place and leave and he’d be alone again. Richie knew it was coming, too. Sometimes when he glanced at Eddie’s screen, the risk analysis figures were replaced with real estate pages. It was only a matter of time before he found a place, probably back in New York. 

Richie didn’t know how he’d cope when Eddie left. It was stupid and silly and creepy, but when Richie woke up from a particularly bad nightmare he’d poke his head into Eddie’s room. He felt like such a creep staring at Eddie sleeping form, and every time he did it he heard Bower’s voice in the back of his head. _ faggot. _ But watching the rise and fall of his chest calmed him down a lot. He’d gotten used to being able to check on Eddie. 

Richie had hoped that maybe with Eddie around, his mind would be at peace enough to go a couple of nights between nightmares. But given Richie’s luck, that didn’t happen. In fact, they seemed to get worse. Richie no longer woke up in tears but in silent, broken sobs. When Richie woke up, he used to just get some water and lay back down. Now he couldn’t fall back asleep. 

Worse still, sometimes during the day his mind would wander and his eyes would start playing tricks on him. Usually, there was something that would parallel his dreams or his memory, and for a moment all he’d see would be the nightmare. Then he’d snap out of it. He thinks every once and awhile, Eddie would notice something weird. Like one time while watching tv, the apartment’s power went on the fritz. Starting with a few small flickers, the electricity eventually to lose and regain power in quick succession making the tv go dark and then back on again. For maybe half a minute the on and off was pretty evenly paced, and watching the screen flash with light forced Richie to recall the terror of Bill’s projector, how a monster had crawled out of pure light to attack them. He felt clammy as his mind fixated on the terrible details of the memory, how slimy the clowns teeth were, how he’d reached out to pull Eddie out of the way. He stared at the screen, paralyzed while Eddie got up and tried to turn off the flickering lights. Richie couldn’t move, he just kept waiting for It to leap out of the screen and try to kill him again. Then the screen went dark for good, and Richie flinched as Eddie jerked his attention back to reality. 

“That should do it.” Eddie said, proudly examining the tv’s power cord in his hand. “Although I probably shouldn’t have done that, I could have been electrocut-” Eddie fell short when he looked to Richie, who was staring at him, but eyes wide with terror like he was seeing something else. “You okay, Rich?” He asked gently.

Richie shuttered, regaining his bearings as he blinked a few times. He felt the panic in his chest dying down, but he was sure it was registering on his face due to how Eddie’s eyebrow was raised at him. He did his best to laugh it off. 

Nah man, I’m pissed!” He exclaimed, gesturing at the screen. “The episode was just getting good!” Richie’s smile felt forced, even for him. Eddie clearly didn’t buy it, but he shrugged.

“You looked really freaked out for a sec,” Eddie defended, pouting. “Sue me for giving a shit.” 

“What you should be giving a shit about is how many STDs I gave your mom. Now, let’s get the M.A.S.H. re-runs going again Eds!”

“Don’t fucking call me that!” Eddie retorted before going to plug the tv back in as the ceiling light stopped flickering and the power restored. Richie just brushed off the incident and Eddie didn’t press him, but he did notice that for the rest of the night Eddie would shoot him the occasional worried glance from the corner of his eye.

This wasn’t an isolated incident either. There were several occasions in which Richie had waking nightmares that Eddie had began to notice. Sometimes they were brought on by a reminder, but sometimes Richie would just dissociate and they’d crop up in his mind's eye. Every time, Eddie’s voice would get uncharacteristically soft and every time Richie brushed it off with a joke or insult, the concerned look would stay there. 

Richie hated the idea that Eddie could be pitying him, so whenever his mind wandered back to the stuff of his nightmares he did his best to brush it off. Richie hated himself for being so weak. He hated that every time Eddie had to say his names multiple times to get his attention or every time he asked him if he was okay, he’d wear this look of gentle concern that just melted Richie’s heart. He hated how every time Eddie looked at him like that, he wanted to wrap his arms around him and stay there, forever. Maybe because every time Eddie got close to him, he was reminded of another set of nightmares and that terrible fear of being left behind by Eddie. And he would be left behind if Eddie ever knew about what Richie dreamed about. So he did what he was best at, and laughed it off.

Richie was in the middle of falling into dissociation when Eddie pulled him out of the spiral.

“Hey dumbass,” Eddie’s voice snapped Richie out of his memories. Eddie’s hands were planted on the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen. “Did you even hear what I said?” he asked, sounding exasperated.

Richie closed his laptop and set it aside. “It was probably something along the lines of, ‘Richie you need a new refrigerator, this one has E. Coli growing in it’” He mocked, raising the pitch of his voice to impersonate Eddie. 

“That sounded nothing like me.” Eddie retorted. “Although you do have a point, your fridge fucking disgusting and I stand by the fact that it should be murdered with bleach.”

Richie shot a finger gun at Eddie. “Thank you for proving my point, good sir.”

Eddie just scoffed and rolled his eyes before reiterating “I was trying to ask you if you’d wanna do breakfast for dinner tonight, I just got pancake mix.”

Pancakes for dinner. Richie was pretty sure he loved Eddie on that suggestion alone. In response, Richie reclined back on the couch with his hand across his forehead in a pretend swoon. “Pancakes for dinner? My, my, Eddie, you sure know how to wine and dine ‘em! That sounds simply scrumptious.” Eddie just rolled his eyes and turned to the stove, putting his back to Richie.

“Yuck it up, dickwad.” Eddie said over his shoulder as he started getting out ingredients. “Keep going like that and I’m making pancakes for one.” 

Richie just chuckled from his spot on the couch. “Oh, that’s fine, I don’t know how much of an appetite I’ll have when I’m done eating out your mom.”

“Beep beep Richie.”

As the two of them ate pancakes over an episode of the Office, Richie couldn’t help but hum with contentment. But of course, such a nice moment couldn’t last long. Not with Richie’s luck.

It started with a stupid fly buzzing around their heads during their pancake dinner. They waved it away initially, but as it persisted, they got up and made an impromptu game out of swatting at it. After a few minutes of laughing and shoving so the other man wouldn’t be the one to kill it, Eddie eventually took a magazine from the coffee table and swung it through the air, and the buzzing stopped.

“Hey, I think I killed it!” He said proudly, examining the magazine for evidence.

_ “I think I killed it!” The words rang in Richie’s ears as Eddie ran up to him, so proud of himself. Richie felt his breath pickup because he knew exactly what was about to happen. He’d seen it in the deadlights. “I think I killed it for real!” The smile quickly dropped from his face as the claw shot through him, and Richie’s blood ran cold. _

By the time Eddie looked up to see how Richie reacted to his victory, Richie was already sinking back into the couch, hand against his head. His breathing was uneven as he tried to shake off the memory he momentarily re-lived.

“Richie?” Eddie’s voice was filled with worry at the sudden change in demeanor. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Richie said, hand still on his forehead. His positioning suggested he’d been struck with a sudden headache, but Richie was just trying to hide his eyes as they pricked with tears. “Think I stood up to fast,” he tried to joke it off, “not as young as I used to be.” His voice was tight and his other hand gripped his jeans so hard his knuckles were white; something was clearly wrong.

Eddie sat down next to him, putting a hand on his leg in concern. Richie sucked in a breath at the contact and his whole body tensed. 

“Richie,” Eddie repeated, but this time it was a whisper. His voice was impossibly soft, sounding the way it had on Eddie’s first night in LA. “What’s wrong?”

It should have calmed Richie, having Eddie be so tender with him. Instead Eddie asking him what was wrong just freaked him out more. His brain was still spinning with the memory from the Neilbolt house, but now that Eddie was so close to seeing how weak Richie felt, all his other fears piled in. _ He’s gonna find out. He’s gonna leave. He’s gonna think you’re a freak. _ Richie squeezed his eyes shut as panic started to set in. He was living his nightmare right now, he just hoped he woke up soon. 

Eddie gently shook Richies leg, “Rich please, talk to me.” He was starting to sound frantic. Richie tried to fight down the sob he could feel rising in his throat long enough to answer Eddie.

“Sorry,” He managed, sounding strangled. “I- I-” He had to move his hand from his forehead to his mouth to muffle a choked sob. With that, Eddie seemed to understand. Not what caused whatever was happening, but he knew what a panic attack looked like. Eddie quickly muted the TV before silently sliding off the couch so he was squatting in front of Richie’s knees, peeking beneath the hair in front of Richie’s glasses. He gingerly laid his hand over Richie’s clenched fist, trying to relax him. 

“It’s alright Rich,” Eddie assured softly. “Breathe with me, ready?” The only response Richie could manage was a terse nod. “Okay, here we go. In, out. In, out.” 

Richie struggled to keep pace with Eddie’s words, but as the ins and outs became more drawn out he began to regain his surroundings. He could feel Eddies hand on top of his, and the memory of clutching his body flashed in front of his eyes. He flinched, breathing faster again. 

Eddie squeezed his hand, “You’re going great, keep breathing. In, out.” In, out. Slowly, his whole body began to unwind. His eyes stayed closed, but his eyelids relaxed so they were no longer squeezed shut so harshly. As his breathing evened out, his grip on his knee began to release until he was breathing deeply. Finally, he heaved a sigh that told Eddie. _ “Its ok, I can breathe again.” _His eyes blinked open, but he refused to look at Eddie. 

“Sorry.” Richie apologized again. His voice was thick. “I just-” his voice died in his throat before he could finish his sentence. 

“Just what?” Eddie asked, and Richie finally looked at him through wet eyes and smudged glasses. Eddie looked so worried, his big, concerned eyes watching his every move. His eyes only got bigger when he saw the tears threatening to spill down Richie’s cheeks. Something about Eddie staring at him like that, like he was heartbroken, shattered Richie’s resolve to stay silent.

“Remembered.” Richie finished brokenly. “I just remembered some shit from Derry, when we killed It.”

Eddie’s brow furrowed, his lips pressed together as he searched for words. Richie immediately wanted to kick himself for telling him, but now that he was talking it felt like he just couldn’t stop.

“It happens sometimes, certain things will” Richie’s voice cracked, “will bring up certain memories. Little things that remind me of It.”

Eddie stared at him, chewing the inside of his cheek the way he did when he got anxious.

“Can I ask what reminded you?” Eddie ventured. “If that’s alright. Just so we can maybe avoid it in the future.”

Richie took a shaky breath. “You said something.” He answered flatly. “And it took me back.”

Eddie looked bewildered. “What did I say?”

Richie was staring at his knees. “I think I killed it.” He echoed, sounding hollow. 

At first Eddie didn’t understand the line. “Like, when I killed the fly?” he asked. Richie just nodded, feeling drained of all his energy. His panic had hit its maximum capacity, leaving Richie too overwhelmed to process and real emotion. Richie looked up as Eddie mouthed the words to himself, trying to figure out the significance. After a moment realization dawned on his face, which turned to shock.

“Oh.” Richie just nodded. “_ Oh. _ Rich, I-I didn’t even realize, God that was so fucking stupid of me I didn’t- _ ” _

Richie was already shaking his head, trying to dismiss the oncoming apology. “You had no way of knowing, man. Don’t beat yourself up over it.” He was trying to come across as unbothered, but his voice just sounded tired. “It’ll pass.”

Eddie, however, was not satisfied with that. “But this has happened before, right?” He took Richie’s silence as an answer. “I’ve seen it happen before, when you zone out or some shit like that.” Eddie squeezed his hand. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He implored. 

Why didn’t Richie say anything. That was the question of the fucking year. The millions of reasons spun in his head. The fear Eddie would think he was a freak or a wimp. The fear Eddie would pity him. The fear Eddie would put two and two together, that Richie couldn’t lose Eddie because he loved him. The fear of actually acting on his impulses. The fear of terrible, terrible rejection. The fear of being alone again.

Richie couldn’t say these things. So instead he just shrugged. “It wasn’t important.”

“It wasn’t-” Eddie looked incredulous, like Richie had just slapped him. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t _ important? _I- I-” Eddie’s words sputtered off as he searched for the words for how gobsmacked he was. “Christ Richie, how long has this been happening for?”

Richie shrugged. “Since we left Derry, I guess.” he answered half-heartedly. That was not the response Eddie had been looking for. “I think it has something to do with the deadlights,” Richie continued. “they uh, they fucked me up pretty good. Fucked me up more than your mom.” He tried to joke, managing a half smile as Eddie shook his head.

“This is absolutely not the time for an ‘I fucked your mom’ joke” Eddie said.

“It’s always time for an “I fucked your mom’ joke.” Richie countered, his smile becoming a little less forced.

Eddie actually chucked at that, before becoming stern again. “For real though Rich, if it helps to talk about it, just ask.” Richie looked away then, staring at the far wall as he resisted Eddie’s offer. He was uncomfortable with how vulnerable the whole situation had become. Richie didn’t want to ask for help, he’s a grown man god damn it. But Eddie wasn’t having it. 

“I mean it!” Eddie emphasized. “I want to help you, Richie. But I can’t do that if you don’t let me.” Richie sighed, too drained to put up any real fight over it.

“Alright, mom, jeez.” He huffed. “If I need anything, I’ll ask.” Eddie narrowed his eyes, suspicious given how dismissive Richie was being. “Scouts honor.”

“Alright.” Eddie said, releasing Richies hand with a pat. He got up and returned to sitting next to him on the couch, shoulders bumping as he sat. An awkward silence filled the room for a minute before Eddie broke it.

“Hey.” He said, giving Richies shoulder a playful shove with his own. “You know I’ve always got your back, right?”

Richie shoved him right back. “I know Eds.” Was all he said. 

_ If only that were true. _Richie thought miserably to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got a bit long and I wrote half of it drunk, so that's why it got a little mushy and maybe a bit out of character. Also angsty, but this isn't the end! The next chapter should be up shortly, it's half finished and also angsty, but the happy ending is coming up soon.  
Just to let you all know, the next chapter will likely be the last UNLESS you guys think I should follow it up with some sexy times for our repressed boys. please please please let me know what you thought and would like to see, I cannot stress enough how much comments mean to me, they are my motivation to write!  
thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it <3


	4. Go to bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie begins to pull all nighters to avoid the possibility of nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was this supposed to be the last chapter? Yes.  
Is it? no  
This was ENTIRELY PLANNED to be the final chapter but as I wrote, the chapter effectively doubled the length of the whole work. So I broke it in half and I'm tossing this in here now. I also feel bad because I haven't updated recently and you all deserve a much better and consistent author but you got me. Anyways enjoy whats now officially a slow burn.

It had been two months since Eddie moved in, and the nightmares just kept getting worse. Whenever Richie’s head hit the pillow, new dreams would fill his subconscious. The classics still floated around too, but now sometimes he dreamt he was back in the clown room of the neibolt house, staring down at a rotted doll of himself. Sometimes he was the doll, staring up at the roof of a coffin unable to move with his mouth sewn shut, unable to scream. Sometimes he dreamt he was in the clubhouse, and the other members of the losers club had trapped him down there. The clubhouse was rapidly filling with sewer water that had God knows what swimming beneath the inky surface. He’d pound his fists against the boarded up exit as the water rose, screaming for them to let him out, whatever he did he was sorry just please,  _ please  _ let him out. He knew they we’re on the other side, listening to him beg. He knew Eddie was there too. Didn’t know how he knew, he just knew.

_ “Eddie” he’d sob, shaky hands slapping the boards. “Please, let me out! I’m sorry I’m sorry Eddie just let me out!”  _

Eventually, Richie couldn’t take it anymore. He started staying up later and later, avoiding sleep however he could. It disrupted his and Eddie’s little nighttime ritual that they’d fallen into. Watching an episode or two of tv with Eddie criticizing whatever happened and Richie making dirty jokes before cleaning up together and turning into their rooms. These days Eddie would get up and stretch, and when Richie stayed put he’d raise an eyebrow.

“Dude, go to bed.” He’d say, beginning to pick up his own dishes. “It’s midnight and I know you have a meeting in the morning.”

Richie would just shrug and grin at him before saying, “There ain’t no rest for the wicked, Spaghetti. I’m gonna watch one more episode before I hit the hay.”

Eddie would just sigh and correct whatever silly nickname Richie gave before walking to his room. Every night, Eddie would look back on him with worry etched on his face. He’d chew his cheek, looking like he had something to say before retiring to his room. It was an expression Richie got used to seeing, but it didn’t mean he liked it. He saw that look every time he shuttered at some image his brain threw at him, or when he was so deep in his own head that Eddie had to say his name multiple times before his eyes refocused. Eddie’s worried look made Richie want to curl in on himself. He hated ever being the reason Eddie was sad or concerned. Maybe that’s why he always deflected with a joke. While it was also a great way to divert attention, he desperately wanted Eddie to smile. He wanted to be why Eddie smiled. 

Once Eddie went to bed, Richie would busy himself. Make coffee, watch tv, write a little. He’d take short naps, but never long enough for REM sleep to set in and start a dream. Just enough to keep him on his feet until his next power nap. It didn’t always work. Sometimes he’d sleep too long and open his eyes in some hellscape of his own creation. But it was better, Richie decided, then the endless barrage of visions that used to flood his nights. 

After about a week Eddie started to get on his case about sleeping. He woke up early sometimes to go to a local gym, but since Richie usually moved into his room at some point in the night their paths never crossed. One morning though, Richie had gotten into a good writing groove and just never moved from the couch. He was still typing when Eddie’s door creaked open.

“Jesus fucking Christ Richie!” He exclaimed, staring at Richie with an open mouth. Blearily, Richie pulled his eyes off the screen and looked at Eddie. He was in workout clothes, a white tee and shorts that were too short for a grown man.  _ He looks good _ was all Richie’s drowsy mind could manage.

“What, Eds?” He said, “Surprised I’m not still in bed with your mom?”

“Don’t call me that.” Eddie snapped at him. “I’m surprised you’re not in bed at all! Fucking shit, have you even moved since last night?”

Richie blinked, looking around confused. He’d been so focused on Eddie and how he looked he hadn’t noticed the sunlight streaming in through the blinds. Glancing at the clock on his computer, he saw the time. 7:15. Yeesh. He’d lost track of time.

“I’ve moved plenty,” Richie lied. “Is it such an impossible fucking notion I got up early for a change?”

Eddie just folded his arms, leaning against his rooms door frame. “Dude.”

“Dude.” Richie imitated, folding his arms to mimic Eddie. 

“You’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes, idiot.” 

Richie looked down. Sure enough, jeans and a tee shirt. He’d even forgotten to take his socks off. “Ah. It would appear you’re diagnosis was correct, Dr K.” He just shrugged. “In my defense, these are super comfortable jeans.” 

“That is really nasty, Rich.” Eddie said, shaking his head. “For real, you’ve been sweating in those clothes for like twenty-four hours, that is so bad for your skin.”

“So is sex with your mom, spaghetti, yet my skin is still smooth as a babies bottom.” 

Eddie shot him a glare before moving towards the door. “You’re disgusting and I’m leaving. Take a shower before you start growing spores.”

“Sir yes sir!” Richie replied with a fake salute, making no effort to move. 

“And get some sleep!” Eddie called over his shoulder on the way out. “You’ll fuck up your immune system!”

“Sir yes s-” Slam.

That was the first time Eddie noticed anything. Every once in awhile when Eddie woke up, Richie would already be in the kitchen making coffee or on the couch, same spot as the night before. Every time, Eddie would lecture Richie on the multiple dangers of sleep loss and Richie would brush it off, blaming his lack of sleep on the life of a starving artist in Hollywood. 

“What, you call your shit jokes art?” Eddie would jab.

One particular incident was different, though. It happened one afternoon while Eddie was making dinner, a little more than a week after their first morning encounter.

Richie frowned at his laptop. He was composing an email to his marketing manager and he was stumped. Sure, he could write jokes but he never knew how to do these proper business emails. The longer he squinted at the screen, the more his eyes felt heavy. He hadn’t slept the night before and the night before that had been minimal to say the least. He couldn’t keep his eyes from blinking closed longer, and longer and longer until his head nodded forward, his chin hitting hit chest. The contact made him jerk back to alertness, and he shook his head to wake himself up. Fuck, he’d been staring at his computer so long, his eyes hurt. Break time. He set his laptop aside and strode over to the counter, sitting on a barstool Eddie had gotten a while back.

“What’s on the menu tonight, chef?” He asked, stifling a yawn. Eddie kept his back turned to him as he moved food around in a pan. 

“Burritos, I’m just finishing the meat now.” Eddie answered proudly. So that’s what smelled so good. 

Richie rested his cheek against the palm of his hand, head getting heavy again. The position of his palm pushed his glasses into his face uncomfortably, so he took them off and set them on the counter before slumping into his hand again. The kitchen smelled wonderful, and the room was so warm, he couldn’t help but close his eyes.

“Smells fuckin’ great Eds.” He said absentmindedly. “Fuck risk analysis or whatever, this is your true calling.” His words were a bit jumbled as he’d already began to doze off again. 

“Don’t call me that.” Eddie responded automatically. He removed the pan of beef from the heat and turned around just in time to watch Richie’s head slip from his hand and slam into the counter.

“Holy shit!” Eddie yelped as Richie snapped his head back up, pressing a hand to his forehead where the counter had made contact. 

“Ow.” Was all Richie could manage as Eddie leaned across the counter, pulling the hand away so he could examine where his forehead made contact. Richie shook his head, trying to clear his vision while also shake off Eddie’s hand, which was now delicately poking at his forehead for signs of swelling.

“What the fuck was that, Richie?!” Eddie asked, still adamantly examining Richie’s face for injuries. Richie was still a little disoriented not only due to banging his head but his general lack of sleep, and his eyes were still blurry. 

“Get off me for a sec,” Richie said, instead waving his hands around his face to shoo Eddie away. “I can’t fucking see.” 

Eddie retreated a bit then, folding his arms as Richie shoved his glasses back on.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He pressed, looking expectant.

“What question?”

“I said what the fuck was that!”

Richie shrugged. “You bored me straight to sleep, Kaspbrak, don’t get all broken up over it.” 

Richie shifted as Eddie squinted at him, leaning in to examine his face. He felt like he was under a microscope and it made him so uncomfortable he had to look away. The moment he did though, Eddie grabbed Richie by the chin and turned his face back to him. Immediately, Richie’s heart skipped a beat. 

“Could you hold still for a fucking moment?” Eddie asked, exasperated. “I wanna make sure you don’t get a lump.” 

Richie didn’t know where to look as Eddie scrutinized his face. He kept his eyes downcast and tried to keep his breathing even as Eddies hand moved from his chin to his forehead, fingertips prodding his hairline for marks or redness. Emphasis on tried. He couldn’t ignore how lightly Eddie’s fingers brushed over his head, poking for lumps but never hard enough to risk causing pain. How are his hands so soft? He wondered, staring at his own calloused hands in his lap. 

“Am I gonna make it, doctor K?” he joked when Eddie pulled his hand away. 

“Not if I don’t kill you myself.” Eddie grumbled, resting his hands on the counter. Richie opened his mouth to make another joke, but Eddie cut him off.

“You need sleep, Rich.”

Richie closed his mouth for a second. Sleep was a sensitive subject of late, but Eddie didn’t know that. So he deflected.

“Well I’m trying to sleep,” He said, folding his arms, “But you know your mother, she’s so goddamn needy-”

“Cut it out dude!” Eddie snipped. “I’m being serious. Not only did you just nearly concuss yourself, but you look like you haven’t slept in fucking centuries.”

Richie frowned. Eddie was right, as always. Richie wasn’t one to dwell on his reflection, but he had noticed shadows forming under his eyes. He hadn’t thought it was that bad though.

“Do you have any idea what sleep loss does to your body?” Eddie lectured on, working himself up “Not only does it destroy your immune system, but your chances of heart disease doubles if you don’t get enough sleep. Doubles! Not to mention the likelihood of an accident-”

“Eddie.”

“What!?”

Richie nodded to the stove behind him. “You left the food out.”

“Fuck!”

Eddie had dropped it then, but didn’t let Richie help him plate the food like he usually did. Instead he just told Richie to go sit down and brought the food to him. As they ate, Richie put real effort into staying awake. But once their food was gone and Richie was full and warm and had Eddies legs comfortably across his knees, he started to nod off again. He only came to when the sound from the TV abruptly stopped. He opened his eyes to find the screen dark, and Eddie was stacking their dishes. Richie reached for his laptop to continue working into the night when Eddie put his hand on it. He glared up at Eddie.

“C’mon man, I need to finish an email.” 

Eddie shook his head. “You need sleep.” He stated.

“It’s like nine o’clock!” Richie protested, “What, is it a fucking school night or something  _ mom? _ ”

Eddie completely ignored the remark. He was not budging. “Richie, your body needs rest. You can claim you’re working hard or whatever, staying up late to finish shit, but you literally passed out on the counter.”

Richie frowned, feeling like a child who was being lectured for missing curfew.

“Pout all you want, asshole,” Eddie said, folding his arms, “but I’m not letting you ruin your health just to write some shitty jokes.”

Richie stared at Eddie, whose face was set with determination. They glared at each other for a minute, neither backing down until eventually Richie conceded.

“Fine. Fucking whatever.” He said, standing and stretching. “But when my manager asks why he never heard back from me, it’s your ass and not mine.”

Eddie just shrugged, clearly satisfied with himself. “Fine by me.” He said smugly, walking away to put the dishes in the sink. 

Richie huffed and went to get ready for bed, changing into sleep pants and an old band shirt as he listened to Eddie brush his teeth in the bathroom. Once he was done, Richie took his turn in the bathroom.  _ Shit _ , he thought to himself as he examined his face in the mirror. He really did have bags under his eyes. There were shadows on his cheeks, too.  _ Eddie was right, I look like a corpse. _

After brushing his teeth, Richie crept back into the front room. Maybe he could grab his laptop, get some work done in bed. But to his surprise Eddie was on the couch in his flannel pjs, scrolling on his phone. 

“What’re you still doing up?” Richie asked. “Thought we were calling it early tonight.” 

Eddie huffed at him “I could ask you the same thing.” He said knowingly. “Figured you wouldn’t go to bed so I waited to see if I was right. And I was.” 

Richie frowned at Eddie, inwardly cursing at how well they knew each other. 

“Yea, well, don't let being right one time go to your fucking head.” Richie retorted. “It’s big enough as it is”

Eddie just watched him smugly before standing up and walking towards him with confidence. They stood toe to toe for a moment, Eddie staring up at Richie with squinted eyes and head cocked to the side. He looked contemplative, like he was analyzing Richie. The feeling made Richie’s stomach squirm. 

“Is there something I can do for you, Kaspbrak?” Richie asked softly, desperate to alleviate the tension. 

“Absolutely.” Answered Eddie shortly.

Richie raised an eyebrow, trying hard to seem unfazed by Eddie’s close proximity. He couldn’t help it when his eyes shot a quick look to Eddie’s lips. “And I’m just supposed to read your mind for it?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, breaking the weird atmosphere by grabbing Richie’s shoulders and spinning him around so he faced the guest room. He gave Richie’s back a hard shove towards the door.

“Get some fucking sleep.”

Richie shot him a dirty look over his shoulder but Eddie was waiting patiently behind him, watching with his hands on his hips.

Richie sighed and put a hand on the doorknob. “I don’t even get a good night kiss?” He joked, facing the door. Well, he half joked. 

Silence. Eddie was usually much quicker with a comeback then this. Richie’s hand tightened on the handle.  _ Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. _

Suddenly there was a hand on his bicep. When he began to turn so he could look at Eddie, there was a short kiss pressed to his cheek. Warm and soft. It was gone in an instant. Richie blinked. He couldn’t move, just stared straight ahead as Eddie withdrew. “Now go to bed.” Eddie said quietly. There is was again, that gentle voice Eddie used when he could tell Richie was doing poorly. Richie’s cheek burned where Eddie had kissed him. He was at a loss for words, a strange state to find himself in. He just swallowed and nodded, slipping into his room. The door closed with a click and he mechanically got into bed, acting more on autopilot via Eddie's command than his own volition. As he climbed between the covers he thought about whatever the hell that had been.  _ He’s probably just trying to get a rise out of me, _ He concluded. He would have dwelled on it longer if not for the exhaustion that clouded his brain.

Richie was out as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must shift some of the blame for this late post to commentor QuinnWalker for the sleep deprived Richie idea. I was going to just toss it in on the offhand but it quickly ate my whole google doc. So thanks for that, and thanks for the comment!  
But yea, I'm going to hesitantly say next chapter is big resolution time. Athough I have been wrong before, clearly. Its almost done, I'm just not quite satisfied with it yet. I want to be really proud of the finale, I owe you guys that much. Thanks for reading, please feel free to comment suggestions, corrections or literally anything. tear me to shreds in the comments, I crave feedback!  
Lots of love, see you next chapter.


	5. Tell me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie tells Eddie everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are. The final chapter. It's been quite a run.  
This chapter is considerably longer than the others, I put alot of work into it so I really hope you guys like it. I'm going to drop a gore and angst warning here though, as well as a warning for some slurs.  
Enjoy!

_ In his dream, Richie was back in the clubhouse. It was a beautiful day, the door was propped open so sunlight streamed in, catching the dust that floated in the air. Richie watched it swirl, smiling. The sun felt good on his face, this was the kind of day Richie liked the best. Long summer days with nothing to do but mess around, nowhere to be but with his friends. Speaking of- _

_ “Hey Rich!” He turned around to see Eddie sitting in the hammock smiling at him. He had one leg dangling over the side, wearing his adorable shorts again. Richie’s gaze travelled up his legs to his shirt, he was wearing one of Richie’s favorites. A baby blue polo with buttons done all the way up. Finally he got to Eddie’s face. He had an excited smile on, happy to see Richie. His hair was brushed out of his face with one or two curls loose, the strands catching the sun. He’d gotten a little tanner this summer, his skin no longer so pale and occasionally dotted with freckles. On his arms and shoulders. They were all over his nose, and Richie loved them. He loved counting them and pinching them and teasing Eddie about them. The golden light gave Eddie’s freckled face a magical sort of overlay, Richie could have stared at it for hours. He looked like a goddamn renaissance painting. Fuck every single famous art piece, Richie thought. Nothing will ever be as beautiful as this.  _

_ “Quit staring, would ya?” Eddie said, not meanly though. “I got some new releases today, check it out!” He held up a comic book, waving Richie over. As Richie approached, Eddie made room for him in the hammock so they could read together, shoulder to shoulder. Richie snuggled close to Eddie who held the comic open, turning the pages on his time, assuming Richie finished the page first. Richie, however, was not focused on reading. He was focused on was the shoulder against his and the softness of Eddie’s breath. Eventually he couldn’t help it, his eyes flicked to Eddie so he could watch him read. He had a small smile, stupidly long eyelashes fluttering as he scanned the page. Perfect. _

_ Eventually, Eddie noticed he was being watched. He glanced over at Richie, who froze, having been caught staring. _

_ “What?” Eddie asked. _

_ “Nothing!” Richie’s answer was too quick.  _

_ Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Don’t nothing me, something’s bothering you. Has been for awhile, you keep acting weirder than normal.” He observed. “What’s the matter?” _

_ Richie went back to looking at the comic, trying to break the tension. “Don’t worry your pretty little head over it, spaghetti.” he dismissed. “It’s no big deal.” _

_ Eddie closed the comic book and tossed it aside. “Why are you being impossible about this?” he demanded. _

_ “Because it’s not your problem!” Richie snapped back. “So would you quit asking and let me deal with it?” _

_ Eddie went quiet for a minute, watching Richie with his big doe eyes, head quirked to the side. “You know you can talk to me, right Rich?” He asked quietly, bumping his shoulder to Richie’s. “About anything?” _

_ Richie swallowed, his resolve wavering. He could never say no to Eddie. “I don’t think it’s something you’d want to know.” He admitted. Eddie didn’t budge. Instead, he took hold of Richie’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. _

_ “Tell me.” _

_ Staring at their intertwined hands, Richie’s willpower crumpled. “I like you.” He blurted. He felt Eddie freeze but he kept going. “Like, the way Ben likes Bev. I’ve liked you for a long time and recently it’s gotten hard to pretend that I don’t because it’s more than like, it’s-” Eddie’s hand was gone. Richie looked up and was met with a horrified face. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach as Eddie stared at him. “Eddie?” _

_ Eddie scrambled away, overturning the hammock in his rush. Richie hit the ground with a painful crash and when he looked up Eddie was already standing above him. Richie felt his heart shatter into a million pieces, registering the look on Eddie’s face. Betrayal.  _

_ “You’re a fucking fag?” He spat, though it was phrased like a question. When Richie didn’t answer his eyes went wide. “Oh my god, you’re a fucking fag!” Eddie started backing away as Richie scrambled to his feet.  _

_ “Eddie wait-” _

_ “No, oh my god that is so- I’ve shared food with you!” Eddie was looking down at himself, like he expected to be covered in mud. “I’ve shared drinks with you, this is disgusting!” He looked up at Richie, who shriveled under his glare. “I thought you were my friend.” _

_ “I am, Eddie, I am!” Richie begged, stepping up towards Eddie with tears in his eyes. Eddie shoved him away, so hard Richie almost went down. _

_ “You’re a freak!” He yelled. The words punched Richie in the gut, sending tears spilling down his face. “You’re fucking sick! You could have gotten me sick!” He pushed Richie again, so hard that Richie’s back hit the wall. Eddie had so much hate in his eyes. Richie had never seen him like this. He was more terrified than he’d ever been in his whole life. “You’re disgusting!”  _

_ Richie reached out, trying to calm Eddie, or maybe trying to tell himself this wasn’t happening. Maybe he could reason with Eddie, say he’s sorry. Anything.  _

_ Eddie slapped away his hands, hard. “Don’t fucking touch me!”  _

_ Richie had tears streaming down his face as he watched his best friend, the love of his life, be overcome with anger and hate. All of it directed at him. Because he was a fag and a freak and all those other things. What had he been thinking, telling Eddie? There never would have been a happy response. _

_ Richie barely felt it when Eddie punched him in the gut, clutching it on instinct. “You’re a goddamn pervert!” The next shot went to his nose, breaking his glasses in one swift movement. Richie’s head shot back, slamming into the wall as blood spurted from his face. He didn’t try to defend himself. He couldn’t move. Maybe he deserved this. _

_ “I fucking hate you!” Eddie screamed, driving another punch into his stomach. This one burned with excruciating pain, and when Richie looked down there was a knife sticking out of him. Eddie was holding Bower’s knife, now slick with Richie’s blood. Staring at Eddie’s hand twisting the knife into him, Richie couldn’t help it. He screamed.  _

Richie shot up from his bed, his breathing uneven and staggered. His face was wet like it had been in the dream. His throat made weird, strained noises as he tucked his knees up, curling in on himself as he cried. He wrapped his arms around his knees like a child, burying his face as he rocked himself. He was used to this by now, curling up and trying to shut the memories out. This one had been especially bad. Maybe because it was so real. There was no clown, no sewers, no death. Just something that could’ve been real. Could still be real.

Richie was so caught up in trying to escape his nightmare that he didn’t see the figure standing in his doorway. 

“Richie?” Eddie whispered from the door. When Richie heard him he froze, the only sound filling the space was his labored breathing. He felt like he’d been caught red-handed in some shameful act. “What’s the matter?” He sounded so worried. Just like in the dream. 

Richie tried to pull himself together enough to answer. “Nothing, don’t worry about it.” He croaked, somewhat muffled from speaking into his arms. “Go back to bed, Eds.”

For once, Eddie didn’t correct the nickname. Instead he shuffled over to Richie’s bed and carefully settled on the edge. Richie couldn’t move. He felt like he should be panicking, but his brain was empty. He was too overwhelmed to feel anything. He just wanted to hide. 

“This is clearly something I’m going to worry about,” Eddie said kindly. This was the gentle Eddie that Richie had started to see, the one that watched him shudder at old memories with worry in his eyes. “So don’t tell me to go away, and just talk to me.” He reached out to touch Richie's hand, but retracted it when Richie flinched away from him. He didn’t mean to, he wanted Eddie to comfort him and be there. But he also remembered the dream he’d just been in. Eddie was starting to sound like the nightmarish version of himself. Richie knew where this conversation would lead. He knew Eddie wouldn’t want to be anywhere near him if he knew the truth.

“You said you’d let me help you.” Richie’s heart ached at how beaten Eddie sounded, like he was heartbroken. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to look up. “I know you’re dealing with… whatever happened in the deadlights,” Eddie continued, “but you’re making yourself go through it alone and- and I don’t get why. We beat it  _ together,  _ Rich. All of us, that’s why we made it. Remember?”

Richie remembered. Bev had told them when they were kids, It couldn’t hurt them if they stuck together. But this was a scenario he’d already seen play out. Richie was sure that Eddie would hate him for the way he was. How it was a sickness, and Eddie hated sickness. They can’t beat it together if Eddie leaves.

Eddie kept talking, practically begging Richie for any kind of response. “I hate it when you’re like this.” Eddie admitted. “When you go all quiet. Because you look so… so… sad isn’t the right word. Lost, Rich. you look lost and alone and I hate it because you’re supposed to smile and joke and be fucking stupid. Because all that is you! And it’s like you're not you anymore and I just… want my friend back. I want you to smile again.”

Richie could hear tightness when Eddie spoke. He was close to tears. He couldn’t have that, he couldn’t make Eddie cry.  _ He could never say no to Eddie.  _ Silently cursing how easily he could be pushed over, Richie began to unglue his limbs from the curled up position he’d been sitting in. Straightening his back, he sat cross-legged on the bed to face Eddie head on and ready to talk. While his face was no longer buried, he kept staring at his hands in his lap, hoping the angle and the dark state of the room would hide how wet his face was. Eddie watched him, taking the cue to move to parallel Richie so they were sitting across from each other. He waited patiently for Richie to talk.

“I’ve been having these nightmares.” He started.

“No duh.” Eddie half-joked, voice still a bit tight, but there was no bite in his words. 

Richie huffed a small chuckle at the obviousness of his own statement before continuing, “Yea, I know. But they get, like, really bad and I sort of freak out.”

Eddie nodded, knowingly. “That’s why you’ve been staying up.” He guessed. 

“Yea.” Richie said dumbly. “This is what it’s been like every night.”

“Oh, Rich,” Eddie scooted forward, reaching out to comfort him before stopping, remembering how Richie had flinched away before. “Sorry, um, can I touch you?” Eddie asked, “I don’t want to freak you out or anything.” Richie just nodded, so Eddie rested a hand on his knee, rubbing his thumb back and forth. 

Richie swallowed and kept talking. “I guess I thought they’d go away if I ignored it, but they just got worse. It’s just… ” his voice died in his throat. He couldn’t finish the sentence. 

“It’s just what?” Richie finally met Eddies eyes. He could barely see for all the darkness and tears, not to mention he’d never put on his glasses. But he could make out the shine of Eddie's eyes. They were huge as they watched Richie. Wide and worried and beautiful. Richie felt his tears start to spill over. By now he’s figured he’d be out of tears to cry, but apparently he was wrong. 

“Everything.” Richie whispered, voice tight. “Just, just everything. Fears and memories and secrets and deadlights and you and It. Everything.” Fully crying now, he hurried to wipe his tears away until Eddie caught his hands. He realized he was shaking. Carefully, Eddie lowered his hands and held both of Richie’s in one of his, using the other to brush away tears. It just made Richie cry harder.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He mumbled, feeling like a babbling idiot. “God, I’m a grown man, this is so fucking stupid.” 

Eddie just shushed him gently. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” He whispered, wiping at Richie’s tears with his thumb. “This isn’t just bad dreams, Rich. This is dealing with an evil alien murder clown fucking with your head for decades. You’re allowed to be affected by that.”

“But it’s so fucking  _ bad _ for me, Eddie.” Richie groaned. Eddie pulled back his hand, drying it against his flannel pajama bottoms. Richie’s cheek felt cold at the absence, but Eddie put his dried hand on top of the ones he already held. He stared at their joined hands as he spoke. “ I don’t- I can’t-” He sighed, defeated. “I don’t know.”

Eddie nodded. “I get dreams too.” His voice was low. “Not all the time, but some nights I remember being in the house on Neibolt street and all that shit.”

Richie stared at Eddie, dumbfounded. In his turmoil, he hadn’t stopped to consider how the others were coping. They all still talked of course, almost everyday, but never about Derry. They liked to focus on happier things. Richie’s chest burned with shame, guilty that he hadn’t even thought about how Eddie was handing everything. Eddie was the one who stood up to Pennywise when Richie was dumb enough to get caught in the deadlights. He was the one who got impaled and almost bled to death. What gave Richie the right to bitch like this?

“I had no idea.” Richie shook his head at himself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even fucking think about that. Pretty selfish of me, huh?”

“Hey.” Eddie shoved Richie. Not hard, but enough to startle him out of his pity-stupor. “Quit apologizing.” He ordered. “There’s no reason for it.” Richie smiled just a little bit, grateful for the break of tension.

“What do you dream about, then?” Richie asked. Eddie looked down, trying to order his thoughts.

“When we killed It and I got stabbed,” was his answer. “During the day I actually don’t remember much of it. That’s pretty common with injuries as traumatic as this one, believe it or not. See, what happens is the memories get put behind this subconscious block and…” His voice trailed off when he saw Richie’s expression. Eyebrows raised, patiently waiting for Eddie to get back on track. “Ah, my point being that I remember it very vividly at night. It’s like its happening all over again. Then I wake up and all that’s left is this gross feeling, and the memories fade away.”

Richie nodded, contemplating. He had an  _ I’m sorry _ at the tip of his tongue but swallowed it back, looking for something different to say. 

“I think it’s so different because of the deadlights.” Richie concluded, going back to staring at his hands. “It’s why mine get so out of hand.”

Eddie nodded in agreement. He remembered how Beverly had told them what she saw in the deadlights. “Did you see us all die?” He asked. “Like Bev?”

Richie cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “Something like that.”

He hadn’t been in the deadlights long, but it had been long enough for what felt like the universe to pour into his head. He’d seen them die alright. But Eddie’s was first, and had been the most real. Everything after that had been like salt in the wound. He saw more than their deaths. He saw all his worst fears and nightmares. Every one of Richie’s nightmares were something he’d seen in the deadlights. Sometimes he didn’t even remember it from the deadlights until he woke up. But he knew every nightmare came from that place in his head, where the deadlights had wriggled in and taken hold. 

Eddie tilted his head, waiting for Richie to explain himself. When he didn’t, he gave Richie’s hands a small squeeze. “Tell me.” He prompted.

Now that made Richie look up. His jaw was set with determination, but his eyes were kind. Imploring. Begging Richie to  _ tell me, tell me, tell me.  _ He’d heard Eddie ask him this before, in his dreams. He knew what came next if he did. 

“No.” 

Eddie blinked. Richie had answered quick and in a whisper, surprised by his own answer. 

He was dumbfounded. Richie had never, ever told him no. “Why not?”

“Because you’ll hate me.” It would be like in his dream, he thought. When Eddie hurled those insults at him. When Eddie recoiled from him like Richie would infect him. His nightmares would come true.

“Richie, I could never hate you!” Eddie basically begged. “And whatever fucking secret you’ve got is destroying you, I can see it happening! So please, just tell me so I can help you!”

“No, Eddie, you don’t fucking get it. I can’t. I fucking can’t. Because that would make it all real and you’ll hate me. You’ll hate me, Eds. You all will and you’ll leave and forget about me and I can’t take that.”

“Richie-”

“No, you will.” Richie was panicking now, his whole body tensing as he scrambled back, his back hitting the wall above his pillows. It was all his worst nightmares at once, and there was just no stopping the words that tumbled out. In his panic, Richie didn’t really know what he was saying. “Because it’s awful and sick and you’ll hate me. And I couldn’t fucking take it if you hated me because I love you so much it hurts. All of my nightmares are about losing you. Every night I see it happen. You die or you leave or you kill me because you think I’m sick because its fucking sick. I can’t let that happen, I can’t let you know-” 

“Richie!” Eddie interrupted his panic by grabbing his face, making Richie look him in the eyes. “Calm down, just breathe.” Richie’s breaths were labored under his hands. His whole body was shaking as his mind spiraled into every terrible situation his nightmares had ever thrown at him. 

_ He’s gonna find out he’s gonna leave he’s gonna find out he’s gonna- _

“C’mon, breathe with me, you can do it.” Eddie encouraged, his words penetrating Richie’s mind. “In, out. In, out, that’s it. In, out.” Eddie spoke softly, watching as Richie began to hear and process his words. His shaking began to slow, face relaxing. After a minute, their breathing was in sync. 

“M’sorry.” Richie mumbled. 

Eddie sat back on his ankles still kneeling in front of Richie, hands folded in his lap. “Don’t be.” he reminded. Richie could only nod, eyes glassy and unfocused. His panic and tears were doing nothing for his already ailing vision.  _ I should put on my glasses,  _ he thought, having his first rational thought of the night. So he did, grabbing them from his bedside table and slipping them on without a word. They sat like that for a moment, Richie with his back to the wall and one knee up, the other out. Eddie was still kneeling, sitting back on his calves with his feet tucked neatly beneath him. He looked thoughtful. 

As Eddie watched him, he began to process what Richie said in his manic state.

_ I love you so much it hurts. I can’t let you know. _

“Was that it, then?” Eddie asked tentatively. “Was that the secret?”

“Huh?” Richie blinked at him, seeing clearly now the amount of concern Eddie looked at him with.

Eddie swallowed a lump in his throat. “You said you loved me, so much that it hurt. But also that I couldn’t know that. Was that the secret?”

Richie’s eyes went wide. 

“Oh.” 

His voice was hushed, trying to remember the things he’d rambled about in his frenzy. “Shit,” he mumbled, processing his own words. “I-I didn’t- I’m sorry I- fuck, Eddie I didn't mean to, dammit I’m sorry it just came out and I didn’t think and oh god- I’m sorry please don’t be mad-”

Eddie raised his hands, signalling for Richie to settle down. “It’s okay, Rich, It’s okay.” 

“But it’s not okay, it’s not!”

Eddie grabbed one of his hands, intertwining their fingers. Richie watched him with wide eyes, chest heaving breaths. When he looked from their hands to Eddie’s eyes, they were already staring at him. Huge and imploring. Beautiful. He gave Richie’s hand a squeeze, like he was trying to send a message.

“It’s okay.” He repeated firmly, watching Richie with the utmost patience.

Well fuck. Richie’s eyes kept bouncing between Eddie’s eyes and their hands. This was not an anticipated outcome. He’d never even imagined a scenario where any of this went over well. Certainly not this well. Eddie’s words rang in his ears. It’s okay. His eye’s bounced back to Eddie. He was smiling. All of Richie’s fears melted away in that smile. It’s okay.

Richie surged forward and pressed his lips to Eddie’s. Their mouths crushed together, in his exhilaration Richie had gotten a bit excessive with the force. He felt his glasses digging into the bridge of his nose but he didn’t care. His chest was exploding, this feeling of kissing Eddie was unlike anything he had felt before. All of the yearning he had dealt with for years, all of the want that was pent up was just inverted. That hollow feeling clawed his chest was suddenly overflowing with love for Eddie. That’s all his brain could manage.  _ Eddie Eddie Eddie.  _ And Eddie was kissing him back. He tilted his head so the kiss could go deeper, or maybe he just adjusting around Richie’s glasses. He didn’t know. He didn’t care.

Richie pulled away when the burning in his chest turned into a lack of oxygen. Richie inhaled deeply, trying to catch his breath as Eddie slowly fluttered his eyes open. Richie searched Eddie’s face for a sign that he’d been wrong, that he’d interpreted Eddie’s message wrong. Eddie assuaged his fear by closing the distance between them again, more delicately than Richie had. Eddie’s kiss was softer, sweeter. It was Eddie. Their lips moved in tandem, Eddie putting both hands on Richie’s face, rising up on his knees for better leverage. Richie didn’t know what to do with his hands. They floated around near Eddie’s head for a second before resting on his shoulders, quickly running down to hold Eddie’s hips. Yea. That felt right.

Time melted away for Richie. All that spun in his head was the man who was kissing him, the love of his life since childhood. Eddie was  _ kissing him _ . Kissing Eddie felt better than he’d ever imagined, and he’d imagined it a lot. His lips were soft and caring, and every small movement sent a jolt down his spine. He could feel electricity shoot all the way into his fingertips as they pressed into Eddie’s hips, keeping him there. He never, ever wanted to not be doing this. 

Eventually, Eddie pulled away again. On instinct Richie followed before regaining a shred of self control. They took a moment to catch their breath, but neither one of them moved aside from that. Eddie still had Richie’s face in his hands, staring at him. Richie didn’t look away this time, staring right back. Eddie was flushed, his cheeks blushed pink. Richie was glad he’d put his glasses back on; he could clearly see what he was certain was the most beautiful view he’d ever get in his life. 

“I love you.” Said Richie, his low voice breaking the silence. Eddie just watched him, enthralled. “I’ve loved you since we were kids. And it terrified me because I knew- well, okay, I  _ thought _ you would never see me the same way.”

Eddie smiled, running his thumb back and forth over Richie’s cheekbone. Richie couldn’t stop himself from leaning into the caress. 

“You’ve always had a knack for being an idiot.” Eddie pointed out. It was an insult, technically, but Richie knew it was just as sincere as an _ I love you too _ . 

“Yea, okay, I get that now.” Richie chuckled. 

Eddie laughed too, before taking his hands off of Richie’s face to adjust his position since he was still on his knees. “Alright, I’m too old for this.” He griped, “My legs are getting sore like this.” Eddie moved so he was sitting next to Richie against the wall, shoulders pressed against one another. Richie smiled when he felt Eddie intertwine their fingers again.

“Not as young as we used to be, huh Eds?” Richie poked. Eddie usually corrected him for the nickname, but replaced the remark with a bump to the shoulder.

“Not anymore.” He agreed with a smile. He gave Richie’s hand a squeeze, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “Is that really what you’re afraid of?” He asked in a hushed voice. “Telling me?”

Richie bit his lip. “Yes and no.” He answered. When Eddie stayed quiet he took that as his cue to elaborate. “I’m afraid of you not being there. For whatever reason. Getting killed by that clown, or leaving because you hate me.” 

Richie watched at Eddie through his peripheral. He was chewing his cheek again. “I’m so sorry, Richie.” He whispered.

Richie was perplexed. “Why are you sorry?” he asked. “None of it was your fault.”

Eddie rested his head against Richie’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for whatever I did or said that made you think I could ever hate you.”

“Oh, Eds, no.” Richie assured, putting his head atop Eddie’s. “It wasn’t you, it was everything else. It was how Derry was. Killer clown aside, realizing you were- well, having feelings for your best friend wasn’t exactly a cakewalk around there. Not with assholes like Bowers running around.” Richie cleared his throat. “The killer clown didn’t help though.”

Eddie nodded, moving Richie with him as he did. Some of Eddie’s hair tickled Richie’s nose. “I get what you mean.” he said.

“Really?”

“Yea, considering how I liked you back, brainiac.” Eddie stated matter-of-factly. Incredulous, Richie leaned forward so he could make direct eye contact with Eddie, who just looked confused by the reaction. “What?”

“You liked me back.” Richie repeated, more as an accusation than a statement. Eddie had a bewildered half-smile. His face read as saying: what, you don’t believe me?

“Rich, what about everything that just happened tells you that I don’t care for you that way?” prompted Eddie. 

Richie stared at him with disbelief, mouth slightly open. He shook his hand free from Eddie’s so he could properly gesticulate his feelings. “Gee Eddie, I don’t know. Constantly telling me to shut up, always shoving me off, anything I’m forgetting? Oh, right, you  _ married  _ a  _ woman?!  _ Sorry that I may have been getting mixed signals.”

“How about divorcing a woman, dropping everything and moving cross-country to live with you?” Eddie retorted. “As for shoving and yelling, that’s what we did! We teased, Richie! Not to mention the fact if I let you hang off of me the way you did I would've gone so red my mom would’ve taken me to the E.R.!”

“Are you trying to tell me you liked me this whole time?!” Richie demanded, gesturing wildly.

Eddie looked fit to burst. “Yes!” He practically shouted. 

“What the ever loving FUCK-” Richie was set to pitch into a ramble when Eddie pushed a quick kiss to his mouth. That shut him up pretty good. It wasn’t a long kiss, but not a peck either, long enough for the words to die in Richie's throat and his eyes to slowly close. Before he could kiss deeper though, Eddie was gone again. Richie frowned at him, somewhat annoyed at both the brevity of the kiss and being cut off mid sentence. Eddie, on the other hand, looked a bit smug. 

“So that’s how you shut him up.” He observed to no one. “Noted.”

Richie rolled his eyes. “You wish, Kaspbrak. ‘Cause the moment you stop doing that I’ll just get the ball rolling again.” Eddie thought about this, looking up as he weighed the validity of Richie’s statement. 

“Maybe so,” He admitted, “but I’m not complaining.” As he spoke he closed the distance between them again. As they kissed, Richie could feel Eddie smiling against his mouth. He felt giddy, remembering how much he loved being what put that smile there. It was euphoria. 

When Eddie finally withdrew, his smile was softer. “I love you too.” He whispered. “I didn’t say it earlier.”

Richie grinned, delivering a peck to the tip of Eddie’s nose. “I know, Eds. I got that part.” he said before yawning. Shit. It was pretty late and confessions of love take a lot of energy, especially for old men.

“Want to try sleeping again?” Eddie asked, watching Richie yawn before also yawning himself. 

He thought for a moment, looking around his dark room. “Can you stay?” he barely whispered, feeling silly asking such a childing question. In answer, Eddie slipped his hand into Richie’s and squeezed it. 

“I’m never leaving your side again.” 

Richie nodded, and let Eddie maneuver them so they could wriggle under the covers. Richie laid down on his back, positioned in a way that let Eddie decide how they slept. Germs and all that, maybe he wasn’t big on cuddling. Sure enough though, Eddie laid down next to him on his side, wrapping an arm around Richie and tugging so Richie had to roll over. “C’mere.”

Richie carefully put his arms around Eddie holding him against his chest. He could feel Eddie’s soft breathing against his collar, and any fears of sleep vanished.

That night, Richie didn’t dream at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for continuing to comment and kudos, they make me feel so warm and happy you have no idea. Special thanks to tiny-tuba who edited this for me like a legend!  
Also I will now plug my writing blog, Topaztales, on tumblr. Check it out, drop a request! I love to write for many things outside of It. My main blog is also Topazteardrop.  
Thanks again for reading! I think one day I may do a branch-off work thats pure domestic, maybe a bit smutty. but for now, this is where I leave you  
lots of love and thanks <3


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